Judicial Choices
by joy4957
Summary: What if Mark didn't go with Hardcastle to Washington?


**Judicious Choices**

 _by joy4957_

 _A/N: This story is based on the episode Mr. Hardcastle Goes to Washington. I wrote this a long time ago, just for my own enjoyment, and never planned on sharing it. I came across it again and, inspired by so many great fanfiction stories I have read, thought perhaps it was time to do something with it. This is my first published work and I hope you enjoy it!_

 _Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, but they sure do own my heart!_

"So, kiddo, are you clear on what I want done while I'm in DC?" demanded Hardcastle.

"Yeah, Judge, I'm clear. Don't worry; I'll do the chores, just the way you want," Mark responded glumly. "Look, are you sure you don't want me to come along? Might be nice to have a friend out there …"

"Nah, kid, it's only for a week and I'll be tied up with dinners and interviews and all that stuff. Would be boring for you."

Mark studied him shrewdly. "You just don't want to have to explain why you're hanging around with an ex-con. That's why you don't want me to go. I'd be an embarrassment."

"No, don't be ridiculous!" Hardcastle huffed, but he wouldn't meet Mark's eyes. He sighed at Mark's continued silence, then admitted, "Look, kiddo, the DC crowd is different and they wouldn't understand. You can't blame me for not wanting to have to deal with those kinds of questions right now, right? I mean, this is the Supreme Court we're talking about, something every judge dreams about. I have to give it my best shot. You can understand that, can't you?"

"Yes, I guess I can," Mark agreed softly, but the hurt was still there in his blue eyes. He was scared, too. If Hardcastle got the appointment, he'd have to move to DC, outside of Mark's judicial stay. And Mark figured they would have little contact in the future, given his ex-con status and it being unlikely a Supreme Court justice would keep ties with a convicted felon. He could lose both his home _and_ his best friend.

He realized reluctantly that he couldn't be selfish, and he had to support Hardcase, as hard as that was. He shifted uncomfortably – his back was really hurting; he must have pulled a muscle while doing the yard work – and forced a smile and added, "You'll do great out there, Judge. Good luck."

Relieved, the judge smiled. "Thanks, McCormick." Hardcastle stopped, unaccountably feeling a sense of unease, and eyed him more closely, noting Mark was standing stiffly and appeared a little flushed. "Are you okay?" he asked with a frown.

Mark nodded quickly, pulling his aching body into a relaxed pose. "Sure, Judge, I'm fine. Now go have a great time in DC." They heard the sharp beep as the cab pulled up and Mark opened the door. "Better get moving!"

"Okay!" Hardcastle grinned, picking up his bag and heading out toward the waiting cab. "See ya in a week. Behave and no parties!"

Mark stared sadly at the closed door. "They're gonna eat you alive, Hardcase," he whispered. He turned to the empty house with a sigh, deciding to start working on some of the busy work the Judge had left him to do, ignoring his growing headache and the worsening back pain.

At the airport, Hardcastle stood impatiently in line awaiting a free telephone, wanting to check in again with McCormick before his flight. He still felt a little uneasy for some reason. "Can't believe I already miss him," he muttered, causing the woman in front of him to slant him a curious look. He heard his flight called and sighed, stepping out of line and heading for the gate. The call would have to wait until he arrived in DC. Surely even McCormick couldn't get into trouble that quickly.

Hours later Mark was dusting lethargically in the den when he sagged weakly against the desk, the pain in his back suddenly escalating, his head aching unbearably, his stomach in rebellion. He gasped sharply and tried to reach for the phone on the desk but instead sank helplessly to the floor, resting his pounding head on the carpet. "Judge … I need you," he mumbled as the darkness fell. He never head the phone ringing ten minutes later …

Hardcastle sighed in frustration and hung up the phone. "Where are you, kid?" he asked plaintively. Since arriving in DC yesterday evening he'd tried several times to reach Mark with no success. He moved restlessly, knowing he had to head out of the hotel shortly for some more interviews. He hated the whole process … every word carefully chosen since the media just loved to misinterpret what was said, hobnobbing with people he didn't know and couldn't care less about while pretending he had more than a superficial interest in their thoughts and approval, and having to plaster a wide smile on his face all the time. Not for the first time he wished Mark was here too. He knew the kid could be counted on at least to have some interesting observations and be someone he could relax with.

He picked up the phone again, this time dialing Frank, and was relieved to catch him in the office, even though it wasn't yet 8 a.m on the west coast. "Hey there, Frank," he greeted.

"Milt! How are things in DC?"

"Oh, fine, just fine. Keeping us pretty busy. Uh, Frank, have you heard from the kid?"

"No, Milt, not lately. Funny, I thought he was going to DC with you."

"Ah, well, we decided it was best if he stayed at home … lots of chores and things to do and he would have been kinda bored with all the dinners and everything anyway."

Silence, then, "Ah-ha."

 _Trust Frank to understand the subtext_ , Hardcastle thought uncomfortably. But before he could say anything, Frank continued, "Well, do you think something is wrong? You don't think he'll throw another party while you're gone, do you?"

Hardcastle winced. "No, nothing like that. I'm sure he learned his lesson last time. It's just that I've been trying to reach him since I got here and he hasn't picked up. I was just wondering if … well, you know ... he can be kinda clumsy and all, and maybe he fell off the roof or down the cliff or had an accident or something …"

"You're worried about him," Frank translated easily. _And_ , he thought, _you miss him like a parent who had to leave their child behind._

"No!" Hardcastle protested immediately, and then he coughed and added, "Not really … well, maybe a little. Ah, hell, Frank, you know how unlucky the kid is, and he gets into trouble with no problem at all. I just thought …"

Frank smiled. "How about if I run out to the house to check on him? He's probably just been busy working on the yard or one of the cars and didn't hear the phone."

"Great, could you? But Frank, don't tell him you're checking up on him … make up some excuse to stop by, okay?"

"Sure, Milt," Frank replied with a grin. Why these two just couldn't admit how important they were to each other was beyond him. "I'll just say I need a file for one of my cases."

Hardcastle blew out a relieved breath. "Thanks a lot, Frank. Let me know what you find out. You can reach me at the Westin DC."

"Okay. And good luck out there."

Frank pulled into Gulls Way, noting that Milt's truck was still parked in the driveway. Getting out of his car, he peered quickly into the garage and saw that both the Vette and Coyote were present. Mark must be somewhere on the grounds or in the house.

Frank strode up to the door of the gatehouse and knocked, but receiving no answer, he walked over to the main house and around to the patio and pool area, expecting to see Mark perhaps skimming the pool. However, no one was there. Frowning, Frank went back to the front door and opened it with the key that Milt had given him years before. "Mark?" Frank called tentatively. No response. He started towards the kitchen when he glanced in the den and spotted Mark on the floor, unmoving.

"Mark!" Frank cried, dropping to his side. He gently rolled him onto his back, immediately noting the high heat radiating from him. His eyes were closed, his face deeply flushed, his breathing stuttered. Frank called for an ambulance and then ran into the bathroom, wetting a towel. He placed the cool towel on Mark's forehead and then sat with his friend, waiting impatiently for help to arrive.

At the hospital, Frank paced while awaiting word on Mark. He didn't want to call Milt until he knew more. Finally, after almost an hour, a doctor came out and asked, "I'm Dr. Wilkins. Are you here for Mr. McCormick?"

"Yes, I am. I'm Frank Harper, LAPD. How is he?"

The doctor eyed him curiously. "Police? Is he in trouble?"

"No, I'm a friend. I was asked to check on him and found him on the floor unconscious. Please, doctor, can you tell me how he is?"

Dr. Wilkins sighed. "He's been stabilized for now, and we'll be sending him to the ICU shortly. He has a bad kidney infection, with possibly a kidney abcess, and the apparent delay in treatment has left him vulnerable to pneumonia as well, although we may manage to prevent that from developing. He is in critical condition at this point, with a high fever that was 104.2o at last check. We're pumping him full of antibiotics and have started cooling measures and have him on oxygen to assist his breathing."

"Oh, God." Frank shut his eyes for a moment. "Will he recover?"

The doctor hesitated, then answered quietly, "I don't know. I hope so. We're doing all we can right now. He's young and strong, and that will help him fight. But the infection is severe and the delay in starting treatment isn't helpful. We'll just have to wait to see how his body responds to the antibiotics. We need to get his temperature down. Prolonged high fever can cause organ failure, but I'm cautiously optimistic we'll be able to beat back his fever soon and avoid that. The next 24 to 48 hours should tell us how he's doing."

"Can I see him?"

"Briefly, in about an hour or so. We need to get him set up in ICU. I'll have a nurse let you know when you can visit."

"Thanks, Doc," Frank managed absently, not even noticing when the doctor walked away. He was dreading making the call to Milt, knowing how devastated his friend would be. With a weary sigh he headed for the phone.

"Oh, hey, Frank, just caught me on my way out!" Hardcastle's booming voice greeted Frank.

"Milt …" Frank began.

"Another one of these fancy dinners," Hardcastle continued in an aggrieved tone. "I wish we could just sit down over some pizza for a change—"

"Milt?" Frank tried again.

"Hey, did ya catch up with McCormick? What was the kid up to?"

"Umm, Milt …"

"Frank?" Hardcastle finally noticed Frank's hesitant tone and felt a pang of fear. "Is something wrong?"

Frank drew a deep breath. "Milt, it's Mark. He's sick, very sick."

Hardcastle dropped into a chair, his heart pounding. "What's wrong? Is the kid going to be okay?" he asked anxiously.

"It's bad, Milt. He has a severe kidney infection and a high fever. I found him in the house on the floor, unconscious. He may have been there for almost a day before I found him."

"No," Hardcastle breathed, gripping the phone tightly. "He – he will be alright, won't he?" There was silence for a moment, then on a rising note of panic Milt asked urgently, "Frank? He WILL be okay, right?"

"He's in critical condition," Frank replied slowly. "They couldn't give any guarantees. They have to wait to see how he responds to the medication … but the doctor was hopeful. I'll stay with him as much as I can. I know you have to stay in DC for the interviews and all, but I wanted you to know the situation. I-I'm sorry, Milt."

Hardcastle swallowed hard, his eyes dimming with unshed tears. "To hell with the interviews. I'll be out on the next flight and get there as soon as I can."

"Milt …?" Frank began.

"This is more important than any damn interviews or appointment," Hardcastle said quietly, his voice cracking. " _Mark_ is more important, and I need to be there for him. Tell Mark … tell him to hold on, I'm coming."

"I will, Milt," Frank promised quietly.

Several hours later Milt was on a plane back to California, his dark thoughts in turmoil. Dammit, he should have been home; he should have been there to help Mark before things escalated so badly. And he'd abandoned his best friend, had hurt him, by leaving him behind, making him feel as if he wasn't important, that he was embarrassed to call Mark his friend … or, his son … Milt shook his head impatiently. _Please hold on, McCormick_ , he begged silently. _Please, I'm coming. I have so much to say to you_. He shuddered at the thought that he might be too late … God, no, he wouldn't go there. Mark would be okay. He would be okay …

Frank met Hardcastle at the airport, sliding his car into place outside the baggage claim doors just as Hardcastle came running out. Tossing his bag into the back seat, Hardcastle climbed in quickly, anxiously demanding, "How's Mark?"

"No change," Frank replied grimly, heading for the hospital. He slanted a look to the judge, noting how tired and pale he looked. "How are you holding up?"

Hardcastle shrugged, staring out the window. "I'll feel better when I see the kid and know he's on the mend." He sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. "This is my fault, Frank. I knew when I left that he wasn't feeling well and he never takes care of himself. I should have stayed and made sure he was okay."

"Milt, it's _not_ your fault –" Frank began.

"Yeah, it is. And it's not just that he was getting sick and I left him. He wanted to come to DC with me and I … I hurt him, Frank. I didn't let him come because I didn't want people to ask about him and have to explain that an ex-con was my best friend. How could I deny him like that?" Hardcastle slumped, staring sightlessly out the window.

Frank just shook his head and they finished the drive in silence.

Frank dropped the judge off at the hospital entrance, assuring he would stop by to check on Mark again after a few hours catching up at the office. Hardcastle strode into the hospital, inquiring about where McCormick was, and headed for the elevator. Just as he entered the floor he saw Charlie Friedman, who he'd called before leaving DC to alert him about Mark's hospital stay and take over his care. "Hey, Charlie, how is McCormick?" he asked anxiously.

Charlie grimaced. "He's still hanging on, Milt, but he's pretty sick. We're having trouble getting the fever under control, and he's weak." He gave Hardcastle a long look. "You should get some rest, you don't look much better." He held up a restraining hand. "Yeah, I know, you won't leave until Mark is okay." He shook his head and gave a troubled sigh. "You know, I've had to treat Mark several times and I'm used to feeling like he's really fighting when he's been injured or sick, but I don't know … he doesn't seem to be doing that, and his mental state and fortitude will have a bearing on him getting through this. He seems … lost, somehow." He shrugged and added quietly, "I think he's been waiting for you."

Hardcastle blinked watery eyes and coughed. "Yeah, I want to see him, too."

Charlie placed a comforting hand on his arm. "Room 504. He may not be completely lucid if he wakes up; he's been in and out of some delirium due to the high fever. Just talk to him, Milt. I think it may help."

Hardcastle entered the room quietly, taking in the medical paraphernalia surrounding Mark. The kid was lying with his eyes closed, a thin sheen of sweat on his flushed face. The oxygen cannula had been removed but was nearby, and two bags dangled from the IV stand, with the IV taped to his left arm. A catheter snaked out from under the blanket. Glancing at the monitor beside the bed, Hardcastle saw that Mark's temperature was 102.8o, his pulse a little fast. His unusual stillness frightened the judge. He walked up to the bed and stared for a moment at Mark's quiet form, resting his hand briefly on his damp, curly hair and wincing as he felt the tremendous heat of his fever. Mark looked achingly young and vulnerable, and Hardcastle felt his heart constrict. Leaning forward, he said softly, "Kiddo? I'm here. I need you to fight this and get better real soon, okay?"

He sighed as there was no response, not even a twitch. He pulled up a chair closer to the bed and sank wearily into it, reaching over to hold Mark's warm hand. Within a few minutes Mark began to stir, and Milt jumped up, leaning close to Mark's face. "McCormick? Can you hear me?"

Mark tossed restlessly, his eyes still closed, and cried out, "Judge, please … don't leave me!"

"Mark, I'm right here!" Hardcastle assured, pushing him gently back down on the bed. "It's okay, I'm here!"

Mark's eyes opened, but they were glassy and unfocused. "The judge is … not here …," he said sadly. "He left me …"

Hardcastle felt his heart twist painfully. He gripped the kid's hand. "Mark –"

"Don't want to leave my home … No … no, can't be selfish … Judge wants this," Mark muttered in agitation, still in the throes of his delirium. "I can't lose him too … how will I … oh God, Judge, if you leave me …" Mark's voice faded out and he sagged back against the bed, falling asleep again.

Hardcastle raised a shaking hand to his face as he fell back into the chair. He hadn't realized how scared Mark was about the Supreme Court appointment, how unsettled he'd felt about the possibility that Milt would receive it and move to DC. Hardcastle hadn't even given that any real thought as yet himself, figuring he was a dark horse at best anyway. But Mark had apparently felt worried and abandoned, fearful of losing both his best friend and his home. Hardcastle felt immeasurable sadness at the pain the kid had been going through.

Hardcastle stared at his friend, his throat thick with tears. How in the world did he deserve such loyalty from him? The judge knew that with Mark's fractured home life growing up, the stable security he now had at Gull's Way was critically important, yet the kid was still willing to support him, even knowing how it would threaten his future home and their friendship. No wonder he loved the kid.

Hardcastle held Mark's hand and squeezed it gently. "I'm not going to leave you, McCormick," he said softly. "We're gonna have a long talk when you're better. I'm sorry I hurt you. C'mon, kiddo, wake up soon. I need you."

Silence except for the continuous drone of the medical equipment. Hardcastle rested his head on the side of Mark's bed and closed his eyes in exhaustion …

 _The sudden shrill alarm startled Hardcastle and he jumped to his feet, still sleepily dazed. He shot a look at McCormick, who lay deathly still on the bed and did not appear to be breathing. "We need help here!" Hardcastle shouted frantically, frightened. The room was suddenly full of medical personnel, and he was pushed aside as they worked feverishly on Mark. Hardcastle swallowed hard, his heart pounding, his face wet with tears as he prayed desperately, "Please, Mark, c'mon. Don't do this! You have to hang on!"_

 _He watched in horror as he heard someone state "He's in full arrest!" and then the defibrillator was used and Mark's body arched under the electric current. Hardcastle cringed as the violent spasm was repeated as the medical team tried several more times to restart his heart. Then suddenly all he heard was the steady drone of the heart monitor signaling a flat line, and the doctor's voice say quietly, "I'm calling it. Time of death …"_

" _No!" Hardcastle sobbed, straining forward to touch Mark and grab his limp hand, the pain in his heart almost too much to bear. "You have to save him! Mark, don't leave me! I need you! Please don't leave me, kiddo!" Dimly he felt a hand descend on his neck, giving a gentle squeeze of support and comfort … and then strangely, he heard a voice, sounding weak but unmistakably like Mark, say softly, "Judge, it's okay …"_

Hardcastle lifted his head from Mark's bedside, abruptly awakening, to find Mark's sleepy blue eyes on him, his hand on the judge's neck as he shook him awake. Hardcastle surged to his feet. Oh, thank God, it had only been a dream! "Mark!" he cried hoarsely, reaching forward to touch his face, his eyes alight with relief.

Mark gave him a weary grin. "Hi, Judge."

"Hi yourself, Kiddo," Hardcastle returned with a relieved smile, still trying to calm his accelerated heartbeat. He looked at the kid closely. Mark's cheeks were still flushed but with a diminished fever, and his eyes were tired but alert and regarding him with affection. "What –"

"You were apparently dreaming … a nightmare, it sounded like," Mark answered, his lips twitching. "The shouting kinda woke me up."

"Well, you were takin' long enough just laying around sleeping," Hardcastle retorted gruffly, but the warmth in his gaze belied the comment. He surreptitiously wiped his eyes, drying the tears he had apparently shed in his dream. He sighed and added more seriously, "How are you, McCormick?"

Mark winced as he shifted. "m'fine … umm, a bit sore and I have a headache, but I've had worse. Kinda tired …" And indeed, his eyes blinked sleepily at Hardcastle, although he was obviously fighting drifting off.

Hardcastle gave him a gentle smile, reaching out to smooth his curly hair. "You should rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

Mark grinned as he settled more deeply into the bed. "Promise?" he asked drowsily.

"I promise. I ain't leaving you, kid," Hardcastle assured firmly, squeezing Mark's hand, and watched as Mark gave a small smile of contentment and slid back to sleep.

Mark slept soundly enough that the nurse's visits to check on him didn't rouse him, but the nurse gave the judge a reassuring smile after taking the last set of vitals, whispering, "He's doing much better now." Hardcastle gave a contented sigh and settled down in his chair, stretching his legs out and letting himself finally relax.

A few hours later Mark awoke again, this time feeling more alert. He grinned when saw Hardcastle asleep in a chair next to the bed, snoring softly. As Mark raised the head of the bed up a bit and tried to readjust his pillows, the Judge stirred and stretched, then smiled as he noticed that Mark was awake too. He jumped up and murmured, "Here, let me do that," pushing Mark gently forward so he could rearrange the pillows comfortably behind his back and then settling him back down again.

"Thanks," Mark said. "Uhh … exactly what happened? Why am I in the hospital?"

"You've been pretty sick. You have a kidney infection. Frank found you at the house yesterday and you've been here for a day. You'll be fine soon."

"Oh." Mark assimilated that for a moment, then frowned at the judge. "Hey, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be in DC?"

"Well, kiddo, I didn't really like it out there – too many people tripping over themselves tryin' to score points." Hardcastle slanted him a look. "And besides, I was needed back here."

Mark paled a bit and looked distressed, and Hardcastle, alarmed, asked quickly, "What is it, kiddo? Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor?" He reached for the call button.

"No, I'm okay," Mark responded, stopping Hardcastle's hand. "I just …"

Hardcastle studied his face. Obviously something was wrong. "McCormick, what is it?" he asked gently.

Mark moved restlessly, slapping his hand on the bed, and dropped his gaze. "Judge, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt your trip and ruin things for you. You didn't have to come back here for me. Maybe it's not too late – you can go back and—"

"No, I can't," Hardcastle countered mildly. "I already took my name out of the justice nomination pool." He held up a hand at Mark's startled gasp and continued, "And you didn't ruin anything, and yes, I did have to come back here. You think I would be able to be sittin' at fancy dinners and meeting with reporters after I heard about your being in the hospital?"

Mark's eyes widened and he shook his head. "Oh, God, Judge, I am so sorry. If I hadn't gotten sick you would still be out there impressing them all. I know how important the idea of being a Supreme Court Justice is to you."

"Hey," Hardcastle said, patting Mark's arm soothingly. "Not as important as you and the work we do here. I really wouldn't have fit in there anyway. I mean, can you picture me being a Supreme Court Justice, having to go to all those power dinners, making nice with a bunch of politicians?"

Mark had to give a small grin at that, but it faded quickly. "Still, I –"

"Mark," Hardcastle interrupted firmly. "You didn't ruin anything. Since I heard I was on the list I hadn't really given much thought to how much would have to change if I were to get the appointment, but I did when I was flying back here. Leaving Gull's Way and the work we've been doing would have been difficult. But having you out of my judicial stay, on the other side of the country … well, that would be too painful to think about." He cleared his throat, adding in a quieter voice, "I couldn't leave _our_ home," he stressed, arching an eyebrow at Mark, "and the only family I have. No appointment in the world is worth that."

Mark regarded him with eyes that were suspiciously moist and swallowed a couple times before saying softly, "Thanks, Judge. I feel the same way."

"Now you're cookin'!" Hardcastle grinned, happy to have cleared that up. "Now," he growled, "get some rest so you can get out of here soon! The lawn is getting overgrown and the hedges are starting to get a bit ragged and you need to get back to work. I'm not paying someone to come out and do your job!" His glare, though, had no heat behind it, and his lips twitched as he tried to suppress a smile

"Yeah, yeah, why pay when you have free slave labor?" Mark retorted, his tired blue eyes amused. He gave a weary yawn and lowered the bed a bit, snuggling deep under the covers with a relaxed sigh.

Hardcastle watched fondly as Mark slipped back into an easy sleep. He reflected that while the opportunity of being considered for a Supreme Court Justice position was amazing, he really didn't mind not pursuing it further. His place was with Mark, in California, standing together to pursue not only justice but life. And really, he couldn't think of a judicial decision he'd like more.


End file.
